You'll Never Walk Alone
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Entries for the Hogwarts Games Women's Football event canon pairings . Group stage: Gryffindor group. Round 3: Ron/Padma. "Follow me in merry measure, while I tell of Yuletide treasure."
1. Here Be Dragons

**Here Be Dragons**

****_Round One: Optional prompt "Always work hard on something uncomfortably exciting."_

Remus Lupin tapped the bricks in Diagon Alley quickly, then leaped through and pulled his cloak tighter about him as Nymphadora Tonks followed behind.

"All right, then," he muttered in a low voice. "Where are we going?"

"Er," said Tonks, "I thought maybe we could stop by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, say hello to the twins. But maybe Potage's, I've been meaning to replace my cauldron after the pomegranate juice...incident."

"Quite," said Lupin. "Well, let's get that out of the way first."

"Okay. There's no rush."

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing as she entered the cauldron shop. As she sorted among small, cheap models, he walked around the store, counting the number of steps from one wall to the one opposite. "Try the brass model," he volunteered as he passed by.

She weighed it in her hands, experimentally, but did ultimately decide on it as he pulled out a quill and parchment from under his robes and started scribbling some notes down.

"That's all settled?" he nodded as they left the store. "Want to Apparate back?"

"Oh no, I said we were going to see the twins, didn't I?"

"We? What did you bring me along for? Goodness, Tonks, you're an _Auror_, surely you know how to conduct shopping by yourself!"

She rolled her eyes. "Can't we just go out somewhere for a day?"

"Out. In Hogsmeade. Like on a date?"

"Yes, you silly man."

He shook his head. "I forget how young you are sometimes."

"Well. Let's go drop in on a pair of miscreants who make me look grown up."

So they made their way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Again, Tonks began inspecting the merchandise (from a safe distance; George had insisted he wouldn't charge her for the damaged Skiving Snackboxes two weeks prior, but she didn't want to infringe on his generosity again). And again, Lupin paced the room before making some notes to himself. Then he stood in the doorframe and cast a spell into the building, that faded immediately after it left the end of his wand. "Losing my touch," he muttered.

"What're you doing?" called Tonks.

"Taking notes," he smiled.

"My brilliant Auror powers of deduction had suggested as much," she grinned. "Is this...business...stuff?"

He shook his head. "No. Just a project I'm working on."

"Remus Lupin, having a bit of a fun project all his own?" called Fred Weasley. "Will wonders never cease?"

"You'll like this, Fred," smiled Lupin, walking over to the desk and unrolling the parchment.

There, on one side, was a very crude sketch of Diagon Alley, with buildings labeled but no pretense of scale. In more cramped handwriting, though, he had estimated the buildings' sizes as if to draw a more detailed version later on.

"Another map?" Fred grinned—he had still not gotten over the thrill of meeting "Moony," his adolescent hero.

"Yes. And no. Obviously it'd be too impractical to keep track of every single person in Diagon Alley."

"And not Hogwarts?" Tonks pointed out.

"Well, there's more turnover," Lupin blushed. "But it's useful to know _how many_ people are where, when—so you know when to avoid long lines."

"Having extra copies for store owners could be useful, too. Keep track of how their stores get crowded or less crowded over time. Would it be possible to make lots of these at once?"

"I suppose—I haven't thought about it very much, yet."

"You should do what the Weasleys do. Try to turn a profit off of these, don't just keep them for yourself."

"I'd be happy to, but I can't exactly see myself applying for a storefront of my own, here."

"Remus, you silly. When the war's over, everything will change."

"What's this?" he gaped. "Dora Tonks showing some foresight and long-range planning? Truly, magic will never cease."

She blushed and whispered something neither of the others could hear.

"What was that?" asked Fred.

"None of your business."

"Tell you what, Moony," Fred grinned, "when you figure out what you're doing with these, you're welcome to sell them here. I'd market them as secrets, right? When your friends are afraid of lines at the Leaky just say "oh, my Inner Eye tells me it's fine.""

"You can't keep it a secret," Tonks argued, "you have to advertise it for the galleons to come in."

"You both flatter me," said Lupin. "But I'll let you know if I happen to make any progress."

"Good," said Tonks.

"Anywhere else you wanted to go?"

"See, you're getting the hang of just enjoying yourself," she teased. "No, but do you? Anywhere you need to measure?"

"Not right now, but let's try Flourish and Blotts if you don't mind."

"Of course not," said Tonks, waving to Fred as they left the shop.

Despite at first claiming she was just there to look, Tonks quickly bought a copy of _Which Broomstick._ While Lupin looked for measurements, he also squinted at the books on the shelves. "Going to buy anything?" Tonks asked.

"No," he said quietly. "just look. These books near the front are literally centuries out of date. And the Muggle literature section is gone. I don't like what's coming."

Tonks sighed. "Me neither, but listen to this."

"What?"

"What you were saying at the joke shop—I'm not brilliant with plans, but when I think about you—I _can_ think about the future."

"D—Tonks, you know how risky—"

"Because I've never been at risk before!"

He sighed. "One day at a time."

"Fine. Muggle London. Dinner. Tonight."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"And I'm paying."

He rolled his eyes. "We shouldn't have bothered with Flourish and Blotts."

"Yes we should have, shush."

"I don't really—"

"In fact, how about this? I'll come back next week too and help you measure. We can get some tape measures, do it properly."

"I don't think shopowners would appreciate us standing in front of their shops with measuring tape—"

"Find one of the magical kind Ollivander uses so it flies around without getting in the way."

He paused. "That's a good idea. Thank you."

She grinned, and perhaps it was just being a Metamorphmagus, but perhaps there was a bit more of a twinkle in her eye.


	2. We Were Both Young

**We Were Both Young**

_Round 2: Optional prompt: Love Song by Taylor Swift._**  
**

Bill Weasley sat on a small couch in Shell Cottage, glancing at the _Daily Prophet _and unconsciously smiling. It was a little cheaper to subscribe by owl, but he liked to buy a copy from a newsstand in Diagon Alley—not because there was much new worth reading, but to keep up appearances as a man who followed the party line. This was really a lost cause when everyone knew where his family stood. But if there was the slightest chance he could protect them, it was more than worth the extra Knut to purchase the rubbish paper.

Though it _was _rubbish, the Quidditch scores were accurate, and they would sometimes read news articles just to laugh—those were years when people looked for humor whenever they could find it. Best of all was Fleur studiously working on the cryptic crossword and biting the quill because she still wanted to improve her English. When she got stuck—which was often—she would call over to him, and by the end of the night they'd be cuddling together on the couch, practicing their English in very short sentences.

But not that night. That night, he had rushed through his dinner and then, unsurprisingly, had a bit of an upset stomach. While he hadn't thrown anything up _yet_, it felt only like a matter of time, and an empty rice pot sat next to him, just in case. Fleur had abandoned the crossword halfway through to cook, and even smiling at the frilly loops of her handwriting didn't make him feel well.

She was crossing the room then, irritated, with a teacup in hand. "Drink zees."

"Fleur, I—" He didn't want to refuse the drink when she'd worked so hard on dinner, but..."I really don't feel well."

"I know. Zees will help. Madame Guillory has written articles about it," she declared, as if her Potion Mistress' research was the be-all, end-all of magical knowledge.

With a sigh, Bill took the cup. Perhaps he would have quoted his professor too, if he had had someone other than a young, nervous Severus Snape teaching him. Fleur loved citations, and not just "my great-aunt the Veela says Veela magic works this way," but "the winter 1951 issue of _Transfiguration Today_ recommends..." Sometimes she seemed desperate to convince him—or herself—that she was as human as she needed to be.

He took a sip, then tried not to retch. "What did you put in this?"

"Zis and zat," she shrugged, sitting down beside him and reaching for the crossword.

Bill grabbed the rice pot and opened his mouth expectantly, but nothing came up. "Ugh."

"You should sleep," said Fleur.

"Sleep? It's barely eight o'clock!"

"Eet ees ze fourteenth," she said, as if that was somehow important.

"So what?"

She rolled her eyes. "You do not need to be ashamed."

"Oh, Merlin's pants, it's not the full moon, is it?"

"Bill—"

"I'm not a bloody werewolf!" he yelled, his anger suddenly overwhelming his queasiness. "Just because I'm sick doesn't mean you have to put rubbish potions in my tea!"

"Eet ees not your fault—"

"Who said anything about my fault? I've been tested by Healers with your sodding _qualifications_, you don't have to go crazy because I lose my appetite one night."

"And eef you are sick next month too?"

"Then at least I'll have survived another month of this ridiculous war!"

He yelled it back more wildly than he had intended, unclenching and reclenching his hands. For a very brief moment the room was silent—then, the pot he had been grasping hit the floor with a loud _bang_.

Fleur stood up and stepped back, her face seeming pale in the dark room. Bill forced himself to laugh. "Well, I suppose that won't do my head any favors."

She smiled and walked across the room, leaning against the curtains. "Do you remember when I first started working at Greengotts?"

"Of course!" he blushed.

How she'd always been the first one to work. "It's so she can get work done before the rest of us get too busy looking at her and bring productivity levels down," his friends had joked at the pub while he nodded along vaguely, still trying to remember her smile. How she'd asked to work on the complicated, involved projects so she'd have more people to practice English with. How even Bulrost the goblin, presumably immune to her Veela charm, had convinced her that her specialized spell-casting talents were needed on more esoteric projects.

"Eet was right after ze Triwizard Tournament. When Diggory had been keeled."

He blinked—she didn't usually bring up that year. "Yeah. I mean, I'd heard about it..."

"Dumbly-dore told us what happened, at ze feast. Ze Meenistry—" (He felt a secret thrill; it was not _your_ Ministry anymore, had not been for months, it was her country too) "—tried to cover it up. But we knew better."

"Of course," he nodded. His friends at the pub had ribbed him no end about having a secret, but it really hadn't been that long before he and Fleur were dating together and snogging quite publicly in front of them. They still didn't know how it had made his skin prickle, keeping his membership in the newly-resurrected Order of the Phoenix quiet.

"My friends—deed not understand. Why would I want to move to Breetain _then_? Eet was silly, zey told me. But deed I leesten?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fleur, you don't listen to _anybody_ you don't want to hear."

"True!" she smiled. "You showed me your ice cream and your beer, your Queedeetch and your pet shops. We deed not let ze war scare us from leeving then—we do not have to, now."

"I'm—" he began. He wasn't scared of being attacked, he wasn't going to back down or _say _anything he didn't believe in. But his family was another story.

"You want to be strong to fight. We all do. So take care of yourself." She nodded at the tea.

"Yeah, but I'm not a werewolf," he repeated. Still, if she thought it was a good idea, he was too tired to argue. He took another sip..."Wait, this isn't that bad."

"You see? Your appetite ees coming back."

"Okay." One sip more, even more tolerable. "What _is_ in it, though?"

She started rattling off esoteric herbs that he knew he would recognize if she'd just slow down—he had gotten Os in both Potions and Herbology, after all, but her accent always picked up when she was talking fast. As if she'd ever need to show off for him.

"I trust you," he finally said with a grin to cut her off, and her head spun as if that was something surprising.

Then again, in that day and age, trust was no common gift.

She walked back across the room, sitting down next to him and gently taking the newspaper, her face hardening as she stared at the clues. A few minutes and she looked even more frustrated, and while Bill's stomach still felt queasy he let himself smile. The Death Eaters could not win, he decided, so long as Fleur Delacour-Weasley had anger to spare for things as trivial as the cryptic crossword.

"All right, I need help," she finally sighed, "_Mad moor sent black and white birds_?"

Bill blinked. "Eight letters?"

She squinted. "How deed you know?"

"Montrose, R-O-S-E. It's another Quidditch club clue—honestly, we need to go to more games, just so you can memorize the team names."

She smiled. "After we win."

Maybe other days he would have told her to be more cautious or told her not to jinx anything (figuratively; literal jinxes were all well and good). But after the upset stomach and the bland tea, it was nice to relax and have faith. "Okay."


	3. Merry Measure

_Round 3: "Empty."_

"If it isn't the lovely Madam Patil!"

"It isn't," I deadpan, "that's my sister you're looking for, over there."

Fred Weasley—okay, so I can't tell them apart, but it has to be him, breaks into a laugh. "Such modesty!"

"Oy," says his brother Ron, "we're dancing, here!"

Well, for what we're doing, that would be sort of an exaggeration. I didn't even want to go to this ball that badly, but once Ron asked me I figured I might as well take the opportunity to dance. Turns out he's a rubbish dancer. I don't mind the goofy robes he wears, but you'd think at least he'd put some effort in!

"Oh. _Well_, then. So sorry to interrupt the _dancing_."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Just to say hello. Maybe give you some pointers?"

I roll my eyes. "Parvati's over there, I'm sure she could use the help."

Fred sighed. "All right, then." He wandered off, hopefully to find Parvati—no, hopefully not, she didn't deserve him barking at her any more than I did. Still...

"Is he always that mental?" I mouth to Ron.

"Oh yeah," he nods. "Where do you know him?"

"Well, I don't really, but Parvati's with Gryffindor with all of you."

"Yeah?"

"So when she showed up I guess he got all excited about having another twin in his house. He kept trying to talk her into switching classes with me, since Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have so few together, just to see how it goes, but I think that's dumb. Lavender could tell us apart right away, and besides, I don't want to earn points for Gryffindor by getting the professors' questions right! No offense," I smile.

He laughs, but then shakes his head. "We're in the same year!"

"...Of course we are."

"So I can't believe he never got excited about having _me_ around to...teach, how to pull pranks or something." He sighs. "They even gave _Harry_ their..."

"What?"

"Never mind. They just try and make friends, is all, with everyone. Except me."

"Both of them?"

Ron shrugs. "I dunno. It's mostly Fred, I guess. But George lets him!"

I think of everything Parvati gets up to at home while I'm busy reading. Getting into Mum's makeup, once—sure, I followed along, but it's easier to have your sister help than to try and look in the mirror. Or using Dad's spices for Potions practice—yeah, I do all the measuring, but that's only because I don't want her cauldron to explode again. Or when she practiced Transfiguring those candles. Of course I was casting charms on them too—it would be faster to clean up with both of us, and that way maybe neither of us would have gotten in trouble. Even if I don't understand what she's doing sometimes, she doesn't deserve Mum or Dad blowing up at her. "That doesn't make them the same."

He raises his eyebrows. "All right. Fair enough."

Another song starts up, and I glare at him until he finally starts trying to dance. The one chance I have to hear the Weird Sisters _live_ and it's being wasted on this! Ugh. At least I could have gotten their autographs or _something_.

"You and Parvati aren't even in the same house," he says after a while.

It's a slower section or I wouldn't respond—if I distract him when the music was moving too fast he'll probably step on my feet. Again. "Mmhmm?"

"Why do you think that is? I mean, all my family have been in Gryffindor..."

"I don't know. I—I had no idea where I was headed. But she went to Gryffindor pretty quickly."

"Still, must be nice to have your own space."

I blink. Is it, really? First year we mostly spent time together when we could. Second year, she was friends with Lavender more. Third year, well..."She likes it a lot, I guess. I don't know how much I do—ow!"

"Sorry," he says, hastily stepping backward away from my feet.

"It's all right," I lie, taking the next few steps slower—he doesn't seem to mind. "What about you? Do you ever wish you were in some other house?"

"Yeah," he says, more quickly than I'd expected. "Although..."

I give him time to answer, shifting my hands in his so I can get a better view of the crowd and hopefully not get stepped on again. He has large hands—I'm not much of a sport fan but it strikes me he'd make an attractive Quidditch player.

"It's funny," he says, "I have so many brothers in Gryffindor, you'd think I'd want to get away from them now and then, wouldn't you?"

"Mmhmm," I nod.

"And yet—they leave me alone, or—even tease me, you saw Fred."

"Yeah. Nutter."

He smiles a little, and I try to keep the dance moving faster. Maybe he's not enjoying this at all either, but I can at least _try_. "So it's not that I need to get away from them, really, at all. It's Harry—I don't know. He's my friend, a really good friend, but sometimes I wish I'd never met him."

I don't want to admit it, but that sounds lucky—I don't really have that many friends in Ravenclaw. There's Morag, of course, but she's been worrying about the ball for the last few weeks and it's gotten a bit annoying. So I blink and look down, trying to focus on the steps. I guess he's a little uncomfortable too, because he starts following along, and for a while we just glide through. Presumably everyone else is giving us a wide berth, since we're not bumping into _anything_!

But then the music stops and I'm left holding his hand. It's been a pretty good dance by his rubbish standards, and just when I'm ready to go for another one, he says, "Er, do you mind if we get some food?"

Well, yes, I sort of do, but I'm not going to tell him that. "Are you hungry?"

"Running on empty," he sighs.

Oh well. He is tall, I guess, and maybe he needs that much food? As soon as we find the snack table we both begin scarfing dessert down...what can I say? Dancing took more out of me than I expect.

Pretty soon I'm ready to go back, but he's still eating. Maybe I can make conversation or something. "So which classes do you like?"

"None of them really," he shrugs. "You?"

"Well, Defense," I blush. "Moody's brilliant!"

"Yeah, good point. Pity he won't last the year though."

"What's that, you think there's a curse?" The man throws around Unforgiveable Curses like it's _Wingardium Leviosa _or something easy. I can't imagine a curse he can't handle!

"Has to be! Just look at—everything that's happened."

"I guess. Too bad. Maybe he can stay on for another subject? I'd love to see his Charms work. Or—no, Flitwick's good too, I suppose."

"He's your head of house, right?"

"Yeah."

Ron takes another swig of punch, tapping his foot a moment before bursting out. "So, d'you know why he's so short?"

I giggle. "No. Why're you so tall?"

He laughs. "Dunno."

"Us neither."

I do like Flitwick. He seems to like me, too, from what I've seen of him—of course, I never give him any reason to take points from Ravenclaw!

I pour myself some more punch and look at Ron again. "He's good, though, Flitwick. Sort of hope he picks me for Prefect next year."

His punch almost seems to go down the wrong way, but he's a wizard, after all, and steadies himself. "Do the heads of houses pick it? Percy—that's _another_ brother—made it sound like Dumbledore himself did it. But don't ask me."

"I'm not sure either," I shrugged.

Ron rolled his eyes. "It'll be Harry and Hermione for Gryffindor, I'm sure."

"Course not."

"It's always either of them."

"That's the thing. Harry put his name into the goblet, three years too young—"

"Well, it probably wasn't him that did it."

"Oh." I wrinkle my eyebrows—I have nothing against him, but all the same I've been supporting Cedric, our proper champion and all. "Well, still. They'll want someone responsible, either way."

"So that's why you stayed clear of Fred? Scheming for power five years down the line? You _do_ take after Percy...well, no, that's not fair. You're a lot cuter. And not a git."

"Thanks," I blush. "Wait, how old is Fred?"

"Sixteen. And nine minutes older than George."

"Really? Parvati's fifteen minutes older than me."

"Guess that's why you're so different," he says, and we both laugh. I've never heard him laugh like that—it's a goofy sound, almost as if he's ashamed of being silly, but it just makes it sound all the cuter.

"Okay. So. They'll be seventh-years next year?"

"Yeah...?"

"I think you and I could make Prefect. Go on rounds together. Tell them off for breaking rules, take points from Gryffindor."

"Theyd _kill_ me. And I'm not taking points from Gryffindor!"

"I will, then. And when Parvati and Lavender are being gits, you can tell them off."

"All right," he smiles. "It's a date."


End file.
